Skyward Sword - The Legend Not Spoken Of
by ButterflyBabyBlue
Summary: Link knew the story of the radiant goddess Hylia, who defeated the Demon King and brought a fragile peace to the land known as the surface. But the distinct gaps in his knowledge blur the lines of his morality as he discovers his divine goddess may not be as holy as she had always appeared to be. - Ghiralink, Zelimpa, two minor OCs - death, mental illness, blood
1. Prologue

_Chapter 1 - Prologue_

* * *

"Do you think you can _win_, Hylia?!" the Demon King roared, brandishing his gargantuan sword as his mocking words rang out across the ravaged battlefield. The king appeared before his enemy as a dark-skinned behemoth of a warrior in ancient armour, flaming hair cascading down his broad black shoulders and casting an orange light to his ghastly white eyes. His armies surged forth from behind the tyrant, demons of every variety to be found racing forward to attack.

The demon king watched the goddess Hylia, palely beautiful and otherworldly, facing him determinedly with the magnificent power she commanded. He saw her tower over the legions of soldiers, long, platinum hair blowing in the fierce winds that whipped her white garb about her. She stood, radiant, ready with her forces gathered about her. Her hands glowed brightly, magic flowing freely through her body and lighting the golden symbols that seemed almost carved into her otherwise smooth skin.

"You will _never_ touch the Triforce, Demise," she affirmed, her voice controlled as it had always been. "I will readily give my life to protect its sacred power."

"_Your_ life, or the lives of your people?" the king fired back with conviction.

"Forward!" Hylia ordered, blue eyes ablaze. "I want them _dead_!"

Hylia's five tribes of the surfaces fought valiantly: the gentle Kikwi stayed further back trying to heal the wounds of injured comrades; the notoriously shifty Mogma attacked demons from from underground, sometimes pulling them down where they had the demons at a disadvantage; Parella, advancing from Lake Floria and bringing an onslaught of torrential downpour and massive waves with them; Gorons fought with enormous strength and powerful muscles, twisting arms and breaking legs.

Last were the people of Hylia, chiefly her warriors, battling fiercely with finely-crafted swords and years of rigorous training. In the forefront was Link, the most courageous of all Hylia's knights and the finest swordsman without doubt. Clad in traditional green, he wielded the Master Sword, the blade of evil's bane. Forged with the goddess' own power, it gave her hero the strength required to beat back the onslaught of demons, aided by his loyal companions.

He was battling, and had been for quite some time, the cunning sword-master and right hand of Demise, Ghirahim. Both were adorned with lacerations and other such wounds now, blood draining from them as their slashes grew more haphazard and uncoordinated, locked in their lethal dance. Quite literally, in Link's case; he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Ghirahim's, something that had cost him a few nasty slashes. The taller male was pale, dressed all in white and gold and red. He himself seemed almost regal in the way he carried himself, the tails of his crimson cape fluttering as he moved swiftly and skillfully. He was so nimble, so lithe as he circled the hero with bloodlust in his eyes that really, it was a wonder Link kept up at all. Such was the result of strenuous training and years of battles. None so great as this one, however.

Sheikah, the protectors of the goddess, were present and yet not there at all, attacking stealthily from the shadows. Clad in black, red and gold, they went unnoticed by even the sharpest eye until the very last moment, identified by the quick flash of their blades or their fierce battle cries. Impa lead them, with the stoicity she was famed for. Lean and acrobatic, she attacked from great heights, equipped with throwing knives and daggers hidden all over her body.

As well as the two armies, there were spectators; mothers fleeing with their children couldn't help stealing a last glimpse of their husband or eldest son. When they saw that they had fallen, they were swift to turn away once more. Their grief-stricken cries joined the remaining soldiers, already straining for their life.

Two demons also watched the spectacles, though they seemed only to be one rather odd-lookong demon, sharing a pair of blue and grey eyes to watch with. Ardaia and Rynae had watched the whole of this brutal war from their perch high aboveground, never choosing a side to support but merely wondering which would be victorious. Half a head of long red hair drifted idly about as the pair tried to absorb everything happening. At the moment, they were watching Link's battle intently.

"Are you quite done with the heroics, little _pawn_?" Ghirahim goaded the hero, as he'd done throughout most of their heated battle. He had been cooing at the hero constantly, trying to sway him, to hit a sensitive point. His head twitched occasionally, a grimace flashing across his face; at one point in their battle, Link had sliced an ear clean off of the demon, the wound thick with hardened black blood. "You appear to be growing tired. And who can blame you? I think what you need is to _rest_."

The demon jabbed with his sword, aiming for the heart. The hero dodged left just in time, countering with an expert strike to the demon's shoulder, cutting harshly downward into muscle. With a sharp hiss, the black, curved sword Ghirahim wielded was dropped as the demon foolishly moved to heal himself.

Link kicked out hard, sending the demon sprawling to the ground with the force. With a fierce cry, Link leaped into the air, sword at the ready, and plunged it into the demon's chest.

Ghirahim transformed instantly into pure black shining metal laced with odd white marks all along his limbs and torso. His core was a luminescent orange-gold in the centre of his chest. As the blade sunk into the demon's core, cracking the surface, something just as sharp and just as painful was pushed deep into the hero's gut. As he'd fallen, Ghirahim had taken the sword of a fallen demon in hand and, with all the energy he had, stabbed the hero viciously.

Link choked on a gasp, and Ghirahim watched realisation dawn in the hero's eyes with a sick satisfaction. His dark eyes gleamed maliciously, staring with sadistic intent at Link's steely blues. He lifted a hand, and gently traced one gloved finger along the side of Link's pallid face, a horrible smile forming on the demon's angular visage.

Then, snarling and roaring in pain, both demon and man rose as one and fought for control of the situation and of the other. They struggled in the one blood-soaked spot, two swords trapped between them, cutting deep. They gasped in pain, uncaring, fighting with all their might to gain the upper hand.

Ghirahim, with Link's blade still stabbing into him at a jagged angle, breathed hard as he bore his gaze into the hero's wild eyes; Hylia's unknowing pawn, just like him and yet so vastly different. He pushed his blade forward, deeper, earning a sharp yelp from Link. The demon kept his grip tight on the borrowed sword as he savoured his victory.

"You… cannot win… against the likes… of _me_!" Ghirahim declared through shallow breaths. "And, now… you're going to… _die_… hero!"

Twisting the blade mercilessly, Ghirahim pulled himself quickly away from the hero, yanking the Master Sword unflinchingly from his core. He staggered to his feet, blood oozing from him, just in time to watch his adversary in his last, delicate moments.

The blond swayed where he stood, his scarlet scarf billowing about as he barely kept himself up. He pulled the blade from his body with an awful cry of pain, and blood began to pour freely from him, as he stared on and on. He seemed baffled, a little stunned as his eyes blinked slowly, slowly…

"This… is how it was… _always_ going… to be, o brave hero!" Ghirahim wheezed, managing a high, breathy laugh as he reverted back to his slender, pale form. "In the end… _I_ was always… going to be… the one to… eliminate you…"

Link's knees hit the ground, his eyes glazed over, and he was most definitely fading fast.

"_No_…!" he breathed. "I… I won't… You… Ghira…him…"

And then, he was gone from the world, his last words dying with him. His enemy cackled feebly, pausing at one point to cough and retch before letting his triumphant laughter fill the battlefield.

Ghirahim's laughter was a laugh that was not to be shared by anyone else; always his own, for some dark purpose, some dastardly deed he was proud of. The soldiers seemed to be almost repelled by the harsh sound, moving their battle elsewhere and leaving him to gloat.

Above, Rynae and Ardaia watched with crossed arms as the demon kicked Link's blade aside and began healing himself with dark magic, the gash across his chest gradually closing up. The right hand of Demise vanished, reappearing behind his master with a wide, satisfied smile.

"And Link falls, as we predicted," Ardaia said with a sigh.

"I knew it all along," Rynae replied almost instantly. "Just like I told you. 'Ghirahim will _barely_ survive, and Link will die with grace and-'"

"I wonder if we will be lucky enough to see a fight like that again," Ardaia interrupted, their shared tongue getting tangled as he spoke. "Though that will be quite a long time away, I suppose."

"Another thousand years, at least, to find someone as brave as poor Link," Rynae affirmed, disheartened. "Oh, look down again, Ardaia. Ghirahim's left the hero and Hylia's taken his place."

It was true; Ghirahim was healed, now - aside from the gash where his ear had been, interestingly - and was already weaving gracefully in and out of Hylia's forces, killing them near-effortlessly, leisurely. At the same time, the soldiers watched as their fair goddess rushed to her fallen hero, picking him up as she would an infant.

"Oh, Link," she breathed, her voice seeming to resonate over the entire battlefield despite the softness of her voice. As if out of respect, the world itself seemed to come to a gradual halt, soldiers and demons alike pausing in their fighting to observe the goddess' mourning.

The hero was, of course, lifeless in her arms, and even Hylia was powerless to change the grim situation. She knew her limits, and death was beyond them; there was nothing that she could do. Now her best soldier had fallen, and without him, she was going to lose.

Laying his head down, Hylia took a deep breath. She knew that without some sacrifice, her cause would be for naught, and Demise would soon lay his hands on the Triforce and bring ruin to the land.

She made her decision with distinct hesitation. Was this _really_ how it was all to end?

Ordering the Hylian soldiers to gather about her, armed to the teeth, she readied herself as they defended her from attack.

Summoning forth all of the heavenly power she'd been granted by the three golden goddesses before her, Hylia began to chant an ancient sealing spell known only to her. The land under her lit up, not quite blinding but distracting enough that the soldiers' fighting grew more inaccurate and, by extension, more bloody.

The demons forced her armies reluctantly back, some falling sooner than others and crying out the names of loved ones as they went. Hylia did not need to open her eyes to know that there were dead sons and husbands lying at her feet.

"Hylia is in a spot of trouble," Rynae remarked from up above.

"Too bad she cannot throw some jewels up here to us," Ardaia said with a grin. "We will just have to see how she pulls herself out of this."

Rynae had been about to make a snide comment when their attention was drawn to the deafening roars of three giant figures flying overhead. Powerful, huge, scaled creatures - dragons.

* * *

Ghirahim was staring wide-eyed at the three dragons from where he stood next to his master, who was fixated on the goddess despite everything. Ghirahim himself had to take a moment to simply appreciate the power that rolled off of the dragons in waves.

"Master-"

"Ghirahim," Demise cut him off quickly. "Look to me."

Ghirahim obeyed; he turned to his master and saw a broad-shouldered, stone-faced demon, with hands that could both shape mountains and calm shaking bodies. His master, the one Ghirahim had always seen as the one he belonged to, the one he could be strong next to. And now the demon king's hand shook as he gripped his jagged broadsword tight enough to leave a mark in the hilt.

"Yes, Master?" Ghirahim asked uncertainly. He could not stop his eyes wandering to the dragons, staring on at the demons being washed away by massive tidal waves no Parella could hope to match.

"_Look_ at me!" Demise practically roared . Ghirahim ripped his gaze away and met Demise's white-hot grimace. His face was taken between two of Demise's strong fingers, and Ghirahim knew from his master's furrowed brow that this would be bad news.

"We are going to lose this battle," Demise proclaimed grimly. Ghirahim's lips parted, disbelieving.

"No," he started, "no-"

"Would you defy me now, in our last hour?" Demise asked, dangerously soft.

"N-never, Master," Ghirahim replied quickly, the words coming out all in a rush. "But there must be some way, _something_ I can do for you."

Demise considered, his eyes inching to the dragons, and Ghirahim followed his gaze.

"Alright," Demise conceded after watching a legion of his forces scorched almost to the bones. "Are you ready, my weapon? This will hurt.

Ghirahim nodded eagerly; he knew already what was coming for him. He transformed himself into his sword form, standing firm.

"_Loyalty_, Ghirahim," Demise spoke solemnly. "Do not forget that you are eternally loyal to _me_."

Ghirahim nodded acknowledgement, a hand over the gem that served as his core. Demise looked reluctantly at the ground alight beneath him, once more at Hylia. Finally, he lifted his sword, and stabbed.

Ghirahim screamed, unashamed, as his own blade was returned to him, rooting its way deep inside of him with searing pain that shot along his arms and legs. It was imbued with Demise's dark magic, his touch remained with it and filled Ghirahim completely.

He regained awareness of the situation by way of Demise shaking his shoulder roughly, and he took his last, long look at the demon king before the warrior rushed forward into the fray, powering through humans and demons alike to reach Hylia in the centre of the bloodied battlefield now covered in symbols of all kinds.

And then Ghirahim readied himself for the worst of pains. He abandoned himself entirely, simply becoming the blade that he had been tied to for so long. And he lay there, feeling beyond useless, as his master charged toward not death, but an infinite imprisonment. At the hands of the goddess he had negotiated with at times, courted at others.

How had it come to _this_?

The sole thought that circled Ghirahim's mind was what kept him in his place as hordes of demons were ripped of their physical selves, Demise at their head. Hylia, that loathsome goddess watched on with fire in her blue eyes as Demise roared in anguish, in raw anger. One of his strong hands reached out to her, faltering. His was a cry of grieving and of fury all at once, and it pained Ghirahim to hear it.

He felt Demise leave this world, as he was forced into a new world entirely. Ghirahim almost transformed in the hopes of being dragged along with him. Only pure loyalty, and a new mantra kept him where he was.

_You will be avenged, Demise. Even if I have to give my life for you._


	2. Waiting

_Chapter 2 - Waiting_

* * *

It was the waiting. That was what drove Ghirahim mad.

Maybe he had already been mad beforehand, he did not know, but as the first lonely days turned to weeks, to months, and lonely years began piling on and on behind him, Ghirahim was certain he was somewhere in the realm of insanity.

He had seen the Lanayru Sea fill steadily with sand over time, the whole land transforming into a vast desert. He had watched Eldin Volcano erupt, observed the scorched land forcing Mogmas underground many a time. He had been there when the Kikwis of Faron woods brought life back to the skeletal forest after great chunks of rock had been unearthed and cast upward toward the heavens.

And _still_ the years wore on.

His thoughts turned often to that fateful battle, seeming so long ago now and yet so sharp in his mind. The Temple of Hylia, detatching itself almost completely from the ground and taking her soldiers with it, up into the sky. Having to lie inanimate as demons he had trained, fought alongside, swallowed up by the ground he now stood upon, their cries fresh in his ears as if it were still happening. His master…

He had tried countless times to propel himself into the skies somehow, but to no avail. The closest he had come was still a pitiful attempt in itself. It seemed as if the clouds had formed their own barrier, repelling his kind. Ghirahim had been sent whirling reluctantly to the surface again and again, back to his new home.

The Sealed Grounds, the land was now called.

He had paced the base of this enormous, open space created by the radiant goddess herself, a testimony to her most hard-fought of victories. Ghirahim had walked the entire length of the spiraled path, up and down and up and down, over and over again, counting steps, noting ridges or cracks. It was largely empty aside from Ghirahim, and even he was but a shadow of the past, a living artefact of that war. Small holes had been blown into the ground at intervals from times where he'd lost himself entirely and repeatedly jammed his onyx blade deep into the earth out of sheer anger and unending boredom.

Sometimes he sat with his hands on either side of his head and screamed at the markings on the ground or at the sealing spike, or up at the Sheikah, beyond them to the sky.

He thought quite a bit about the hero, Link. Not only in relation to the battle that had nearly killed them both, though that was a fond memory. He remembered the hero when the war had begun, when Link was aware that he was being used and abused by the goddess he had pledged allegiance to. The hero fought in Hylia's name, with the weapon she'd had crafted for him. As her weapon. Just like Ghirahim. The difference had been that while Link was faithful to the land he loved, Ghirahim's loyalty lay in the demon king who had made him into a weapon in the first place.

He missed Demise.

Oh, how he missed him. And what use was he to his master now, unable to do anything for him and left to wander around growing more and more frustrated with every passing day?

He had traced the markings left by the goddess upon her sealing, knew his way around them better than any other area on the surface. He'd run his fingers along the crevices of the sealing spike left by Hylia, trying to find a way to activate it somehow.

To bring his master back.

But Hylia was smarter, _much_ smarter than that. Though she had sacrificed her immortal form to enact her masterplan, it was worth it in the end, because this seal was not weakening in the slightest.

And when it did begin to weaken, the spirit of her best soldier, Link, would be reborn in some unfortunate soul that would be tasked with strengthening the seal and ultimately vanquishing Demise. The goddess' masterplan. Or rather, a part of it. Hylia, though disembodied, was setting things in motion up on that island of hers, Ghirahim was sure. He could still feel faint glimmers of power now and then as she set some other part of her grand scheme into action.

Ghirahim was both apprehensive and anxious for the day things would really begin again. Anxious for another battle with the hero, for a challenge of some sort. Apprehensive because it was another obstacle for him; maybe this hero would beat him by some miracle, and Ghirahim would fail in his mission.

Nevermind that, anyways. Besides, Ghirahim could worry about the new hero when the time came for him to. For now, he had visitors to deal with.

Ghirahim had cast a domed protective field of orange and red diamond shapes around himself and the sealing spike, as he sat cross-legged in contemplation, for days on end at times. Thinking about his master. Eternally loyal. Thinking about avenging Demise… someday.

The remains of the Temple of Hylia had been occupied and haphazardly restored by what was left of the Sheikah. Impa was their leader, and though she grew older with time's passage, she remained with young spirit, still as devoted to Hylia as Ghirahim was to Demise.

It became clear after about two or three years that Impa was opting to remain completely secluded -and completely safe; Ghirahim had been repelled many a time by the Sheikah's own protective barrier - defended from within the crumbling temple. However, some of her younger, inexperienced underlings proved too headstrong, and made frequent visits into the Sealed Grounds.

Some remained high above Ghirahim, staring down at the demon and gaping in awe. While Ghirahim did appreciate the attention, he occasionally took the time to eliminate them with a neatly-aimed handful of sharp daggers. The stragglers dwindled after the deaths of two tiny young ones.

But some, bolder in earlier times, had simply elected to drop down from ledge to ledge, falling below to where the demon waited for them to engage in an all-too-brief scuffle.

Though Ghirahim did emerge with some slices here and there, the Sheikah were usually picked off easily enough. They had no forested areas to hide themselves with here in the barren land, trapped in the massive spiral with a demon who could teleport at will.

And so, while he did end up somewhat bloodied on occasion, Ghirahim had dealt much more than he had lost.

But the one wound that never healed properly was the messy area where his right ear should have been. Whatever Link had done was long-standing, and it served to fuel his motivation at his lowest points, to keep him pushing onward to the day he would meet the hero and the goddess once again.

And as a result, he put up with the awful boredom, with the odd wanderer he came across.

Ardaia and Rynae, those bumbling idiots having avoided the sealing, sometimes passed by and stopped to inspect Ghirahim out of curiosity. They came sharing a body now and then, but mostly Ghirahim spotted them walking close by one another, chattering contentedly - though Ardaia did most of the talking, with a flushed face and alighted eyes.

They approached him amiably in their coloured layers of robes, Rynae in red and black and Ardaia in all mismatches of colour, his long hair trailing far behind him. The pair would come to a stop at the sealing spike where Ghirahim was always found staring blankly at a wall or one particular symbol on the ground.

"Ghirahim, come and walk with us," they frequently invited him, in the earlier days of the long wait, offering him their most endearing smiles.

"Go away," was always Ghirahim's sour reply. Ardaia and Rynae never seemed to be bothered by his annoyance. Ghirahim was not going to kill them - it violated strict rules - and Ardaia and Rynae knew they were useful.

After the first year or so of their visits, they became more scarce. They arrived with the passing of seasons, before it became more of an annual meet-up, and then it was simply whenever they chose to make time for him.

"Have you been sitting in that same spot all this time?" one of them would ask with raised eyebrows upon arriving. Ghirahim rarely responded; he might glance over at them, sit up a little straighter. Nothing more.

Ardaia and Rynae were well aware that Ghirahim appreciated the affection they showed him in generous amounts, and so they would draw intimately close to him despite protest. Once they had him resting reluctantly between them, they would launch into stories of the discoveries they had made while travelling, of all the new species in Lanayru or Faron, the amazing places and ancient findings to be seen. Trying to entice him to leave, to do something other than wander around this eerily hollow place like a lost child.

And though Ghirahim was sick of remaining next to the accursed seal, hoping without much conviction for some slight weakening, he refused any offer the two demons presented. Mostly out of loyalty to Demise, and partly to spite his inferiors.

Eventually they'd stopped trying to get him up and about. When they visited every decade or so, it was not uncommon for the hours to be spent in plaintive silence.

They gave him nicknames of all kinds - replacement was a common one, and Ghirahim knew exactly why - made irritating clicking noises, tapped their feet against the earth, anything that might garner a reaction. The most they'd gotten in about one hundred years of attempts was a simple, "How did I come to be in the company of rejects, anyways?"

* * *

Impa was growing steadily older, Ghirahim was well aware. He could feel her power diminishing slowly,em style="cursor: url(' bf7223c16afa599d7200784e4de26954/gdo3rfu/Yi7niozgm/tumblr_static_ '), auto; color: #11261c; text-shadow: transparent 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-transition: 0.6s; transition: 0.6s; background-color: transparent;"tantalisingly/em slowly. One day, her seal on the temple would break, and then Ghirahim would rid himself of the presence of that old woman. What good was she to the goddess now, fragile, aged beyond measure, the last left of her kind? Either she would fade out after a while longer, or he would finish her himself. Only time would tell.

There were times Ghirahim wished that he, too, was mortal, that he could grow old and weak and die here in the Sealed Grounds next to the seal. Just like Impa, holed up in her decrepid temple. While he was grateful, on some level, for his inability to physically become old, he still wished to be able to experience that process. Sometimes he wished he could put himself out of the misery that was boredom.

Those thoughts were quickly chased away by vague ideas of the punishment that would be delivered to him by Demise if he were to find out Ghirahim felt this way.

"Eternally loyal," Ghirahim would repeat to himself as he paced, recalling happier times to lighten his almost permanently dismal, frustrated moods. Sometimes Ardaia and Rynae found him pointing at nothing and laughing near-hysterically.

And then, after years, decades, centuries, it happened.

The hero was born.

It hit Ghirahim like a blow to the gut, waking him from a daze and sending him stumbling to his feet. His dark eyes snapped open, flickering toward the blue skies. He was almost giddy with excitement, a huge, genuine grin breaking out on his pallid face.

He was here. After so long, the world had its hero once more. Hylia's chosen pawn, the one Ghirahim was fated to meet in battle. At last, his long-awaited hero was here.

"Finally," he breathed. One hand went to the not-quite-healed stump at his ear, the other to his shoulder where Demise had last touched him. He would have his revenge. And he would bring his master back.

"He could feel the hero, alive, conscious, ever so faintly; he was just present enough for Ghirahim to know he was breathing. If he focused himself completely, Ghirahim suspected he could sense the hero well enough. The possibilities were astounding. Their minds, inextricably connected, and Ghirahim did not care for an explanation. He wasn't bothered in the least about the hero taking up residence in a certain part of his already depraved mind, because it was company on another level entirely.

He could wait another eighteen years.

And for now, since he most definitely had the time, why not make good use of it?

* * *

The land had become known to all as Skyloft, after years of changing titles and minor disputes over whether the other floating chunks of rocks were to be included as part of the mainland or not. The population was somewhat sparse, enough to sustain life on the island, but there would never be a surplus of people.

They were matched in number by their Loftwings, one for each denizen of the city in the sky. A parting gift from the goddess, so it was said, received by every child on their tenth birthday. Over the years, Loftwing racing became a source of entertainment, and the more daring would head out on long journeys with their birds, seeking new islands not yet found, or trying to enter the seemingly-permanent thunderhead that loomed close by Skyloft.

The children of the island were commonly orphans or living without a mother, aside from some rare cases. Women had an unfortunate tendency not to survive for very long after childbirth, if they even survived that process.

Link cried for hours upon being born, after his young mother, Gale, endured fourteen hours of tormented labour. One of the longest labours witnessed on their floating island; the excruciating pain was what killed the already delicate Gale despite efforts by Luv and her husband to keep her healthy with potions. Her pregnancy as a whole had been a long, arduous strain from almost the very first day.

With the sudden passing of her husband, Finch, Gale had fallen into a deep depression; it was not surprising, missing her beloved husband and not even having a body to bury after he fell far below the clouds. Gale idled aimlessly about with a completely neutral expression and one hand over her abdomen, refusing invitations to tea in her neighbours' homes and turning down suggestions to take up new hobbies. Many residents of Skyloft concluded that the only consoling thought the woman held onto was that of having a son to call her own.

She'd only gotten one brief look at her newborn son's face, and then Gale's eyes closed for the last time as she died with a smile on her exhausted face. The last request she'd made was for her son to be named after the hero of legend.

Gaepora was head of the Knight Academy in Skyloft, where young children trained for years to eventually become protectors of their homeland. He had been the first to offer to take Link in when it came to deciding who he should stay with. His daughter, Zelda came just a few months after that, and Gaepora's loving wife had passed away a few weeks after delivering her child due to her severe blood loss.

Link and Zelda were both looked after well by Gaepora, and while Zelda rarely had problems, Link sometimes proved difficult to keep watch over as he became a target of Groose, a fierce redhead with a grudge against Link. His constant teasing about Zelda, and his pushing and shoving meant that Link, with his father's wide blue eyes, nearly always had his fair head darting over his shoulder, on lookout.

After a while, Link appeared to resort to simply sliding his gaze away from Groose, focused on a corner of the room or some distant object. Then, on some days when Groose took it too far, Link opted simply to walk away from his bully, without a word to anyone else about where he was off to.

Daydreaming, Gaepora had initially suspected, but Link's odd behaviour was endagering him more than any mere daydream could.

There were times when Zelda found him standing precariously at the edge of the island, his eyes on nothing but the clouds below him. He jumped in alarm when she tapped on his shoulder to snap him out of his reveries, and his feet often dragged as Zelda turned him back toward the plaza or the academy.

Gaepora had, naturally, been extremely worried when Link finally revealed to him what exactly it was that preoccupied him, after he'd gone missing for an entire day, only to be discovered sitting with his legs dangling over one of the narrow strips of land connected to the Statue of the Goddess.

He could hear, sometimes, a person with a nice voice.

And no other eight year old on the island was hearing voices, _that_ was without doubt.

Gaepora had taken Link around the entirety of Skyloft, asking the boy to identify this mystery person. Of course, no one was responsible for Link's disappearances, and for a time Gaepora had grown angry with the boy for what looked like casting blame on unsuspecting villagers so that he could sneak off on his own.

The headmaster learned, though, that it was when Link was left alone in his room feeling upset at being ridiculed or unfairly punished that he was particularly susceptible to lapsing into a total trance. Most alarming was the fac that it seemed Link didn't bother putting up a fight, in Gaepora's view; like he wanted to listen.

Link had no description to offer of whoever it was he heard. When he was aware of himself, his eyes were constantly shifting from place to place, restless. People watched him turn around to stare, perplexed, at nothing, or right through the person staring back at him. On edge.

Zelda had heard her father describe her friend as being _paranoid_, haunted. She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but she did her best to try and focus Link on simpler things, asking him to braid her straw-blond hair or simply play a game and chase each other around the plaza.

She'd asked him once or twice about the issue, knowing it was a sensitive topic but allowing curiosity to get the better of her all the same. Link never wanted to divulge anything about it, however. But Zelda was persistent. The day before Link was to receive his Loftwing, on the eve of his tenth birthday, she decided to inquire again, and finally got her answer.

"He says the same kind of thing to me a lot, really," Link explained, sitting with Zelda under a tree growing near the Knight Academy and tracing circles in the dirt with his finger. He seemed reluctant to speak up, but Zelda had already mastered a motherly expression at the young age of nine.

"When Groose picks on me, that's when I hear him most of the time," Link told her. "It's like he's trying to comfort me, but he usually just talks about running away. 'Hurry up, hero, down, down, I've been waiting.'"

Link thought Zelda seemed quite impressed, with the way her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. He continued quoting, trying his best to imitate the voice. "'Downward, hero. Down _here_.' I can hear him so clearly one day, and then the next day I maybe can't hear him at all."

Even as he said it, he turned to look at the diving platform for Loftwing-riders positioned behind them. He waited a moment before returning his attention to Zelda, who was listening intently.

"He calls you a hero?" she asked.

Link nodded, and a touch of pride actually entered his voice when he spoke. "Yeah, a hero… I don't know why, but he does anyways."

Link shook his head in puzzlement, as confused as his friend was. His face grew wary as he spoke up again, talking more to himself than to Zelda.

"He says nice things, about where he is; better than up here with _Groose_, I guess. He talks about all these exciting thing you wouldn't even think up. It's like he's talking to himself, but he knows I might be listening in maybe, and he starts talking like that…"

After receiving his Crimson Loftwing at the Statue of the Goddess, Link spent the next week or so with his new companion, learning how to care for her before taking her for a flight. He still wandered off once in a while or started staring blankly at nothing, and this earned him ridiculing from Groose as a result, but that was nothing new.

Having a Loftwing helped to keep Link more on track, since he had to learn to steer the bird along and control its altitude himself. Focus was the key, and so flying quickly became a favourite hobby of Link's. He'd grown quite close to his Crimson Loftwing much faster than the other children thanks to his love of her company and frequent tours around the various islands scattered close to Skyloft.

One day, after an unexpected return from that long-absent voice, Link decided to try and see what, if anything at all, was beyond those clouds, what the voice he heard was talking about. If that voice even meant something, or if it was all make-believe, just a coping mechanism.

He flew steadily along with the rest of his small class in their usual formation. He and Zelda were at the back of the group of five, Groose leading them at the forefront while Cawlin and Stritch took the middle.

Link ignored the concerned gaze Zelda sent his way as he dipped a little closer to the clouds. He had a few years of experience; this was nothing. The others paid him no mind, and as soon as he knew Zelda's attention was elsewhere, he plunged downward.

He cleared his mind as best as he could, keeping his Loftwing moving in a straight line. Boring, certainly, but he needed to be completely disengaged to be able to hear him. Or else chance a teasing from Groose, which he was not up to.

While Link assumed it was a male, felt that it was, the voice was surprisingly soft, lilting almost. Regardless of what he said, Link couldn't help thinking that it was vaguely familiar. In what way, he had no idea, but he got the ominous feeling that this person was familiar with him too.

It astounded Link and frightened him at the same time. It was quite amazing, he supposed; no one else in Skyloft had someone else talking inside their head, as far as he knew

But it scared him, terrified him more than anything, even if in the moment he didn't realise it. It was only after he snapped out of his daze, and blinked into awareness to realise he was walking along the edge of a diving platform, or leaning over the edge of an already-crumbling ledge with his arms swaying in the breeze. That was when he was _most_ afraid.

He didn't go to these dangerous places willingly; most sensible Skyloftians wouldn't either. But that sly, persuasive voice would invade his thoughts and start talking about how boring it was 'down below' without company, how he had been waiting for a 'hero' all this time. If Link would only arrive sooner.

Where was he supposed to be going, though? That was the real question. And at fifteen, Link was more than ready to see if there was anything beyond the clouds and floating rocks that comprised his home. And more than ready to get rid of a voice he didn't always want to hear.

So when he heard it this time, he let it guide him. Downward, _downward_, down…

Link felt his eyes sting, felt the wind racing against him and his bird.

The Loftwing strained against Link's steering, and Link strained against the Loftwing's struggling.

"He didn't hear Zelda's scream, didn't hear his Loftwing's cries, the wind, nothing.

Only that voice, and Link knew it was trying to lure him in some way, push him to fall below the clouds, and yet it was all he heard.

_'Closer, closer, closer, skychild…'_

Closer, closer, Link could almost reach out and touch the clouds, he was almost there./p

_'Finally, skychild, I've been waiting…'_

And then, just a few metres away, and-

Hands, pulling at him, pulling him off of his bird and…

"LINK!"

Zelda's frantic face in front of his, her hands on his arms, seated on the back of her blue Loftwing.

Groose's voice, Cawlin, Stritch, Zelda…

"You could have died, Link!"

"What were you thinking?"

All Link saw were the clouds, already far out of reach.


	3. Wing Ceremony

Link was banned from flying for a year after his '_incident_', as the rest of town liked to call his reckless dive. Link could still remember that day like it had happened minutes ago. Gaepora had turned almost purple as he lectured Link on his irresponsibility. The voice was a seething torrent in his mind, battering against his skull, furious at having failed in bringing him beyond the ever-present clouds. Curses of varying intensity, ones that Link had never heard, swirled around his head in clusters, and sometimes he found himself agreeing with the rage.

So, he had wanted to see something a little more than the island he called home. What was the fault in that? Were they going to blame him for being curious? He asked himself, asked the voice, and it fired the questions right back at him.

It had a definite hook in Link's mind, and while the connection was rarely very strong, it was there. Even while Link couldn't fly, couldn't visit the plaza or the graveyard without someone else for company. At completely random times, he would fall prey to his enticer, the lure. Sometimes it encouraged Link to say some dreadful things, and brought out a nastier side in the otherwise-peaceful blond.

Zelda, for example, was always just _too_ cautious, _too_ determined to keep Link out of harm's way. He did appreciate it, because without her, the new hero would long have been dead. But he hated her hovering, her constant checking up on him, because he didn't need it as much as she seemed to think.

Once, the voice was idly chattering to itself about waiting impatiently for a hero and all of the usual things, while Link walked with Zelda around the plaza – Link may have been allowed to fly after a year's denial, but he was still accompanied everywhere he went.

He listened as wisps of thoughts floated into his mind, snippets of whispered words. Zelda must have noticed Link zoning out, and gave him a gentle shake to stir him.

"Link," she said softly, her eyebrows drawn into a frown. "You know you were told not to... to _listen_…"

Link smiled fondly at her, shaking his head at her concern. "It's alright, really. After all, I haven't gone _diving_ or anything, right?"

Zelda's face creased with worry. "Link, really, you can't let him in like-"

"Zelda, relax," Link said. His smile was somewhat strained.

_'Irritated, are we?'_

Link barely managed to stop himself tripping over when he was addressed directly, and of course Zelda was there to steady him. He stepped out of her arms with a firm but assured, "I'm fine."

"Are you-?"

"_Yes_, Zelda, I'm sure!" he snapped suddenly, throwing his arms up in a show of exasperation. "Would you relax? I'm seventeen years old, Zelda. It's okay to _breathe_ around me; I'm not going to start hallucinating or whatever it is you think happens! You don't understand what it's like, so stop _trying_ to!"

Tears sprung to Zelda's innocent eyes at his harsh words, and Link blinked slowly as he realised what he had said.

"Zelda," he said softly, taking her by the arms, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I didn't-"

"I know, I know that it's… it's alright."

Link hugged her close, tightly, shaking away thoughts of that voice. Zelda did not deserve to be spoken to like this, not when she was the person that had always been most patient with him, helping him since he'd first started hearing things.

From that day, Link never lost his temper with Zelda again. In fact, the nameless voice seemed to have decided to retreat into itself for a while, and Link had peace for the first time in his life. Months of peace, of an almost-unnerving silence in his mind. It was the day of the Wing Ceremony that Link began to experience strange sensations again.

His dream early on that morning had been more than unsettling. That awful monstrosity, towering far above him with its sharp teeth, rows and rows of them like the blades of swords. The horrible cries it uttered as it destroyed, devoured everything. Places he had never seen, wiped out, Zelda swallowed up by darkness… And then it had stopped when a brilliant light filled his vision, and he looked up, up, to see a glowing figure cloaked in hues of blue and purple. She spoke to him, and though it sounded like the chiming of bells, the trickle of water droplets, Link could understand her clearly.

_"Link… Link… It is time for you to awaken… Link…"_

And then, he had wakened suddenly on his bedroom floor, thanks to the assistance of Zelda's blue Loftwing screeching for the teen to pay attention to him. And, more importantly, to the letter he carried in his beak. It hit Link on the head before the Loftwing took to the sky, leaving Link with sleepy eyes and a smile on his face.

He stood up with a yawn, flicking the letter open with a smile.

"Better get moving," he decided, after rereading Zelda's letter. Did he really sleep in _that_ much…? Link could answer that himself.

Thoughts of the Wing Ceremony made him forget about his bad dream; it was a celebration, after all, and Link would –hopefully- graduate to the senior knights class today. His goal was to win and nothing more. That'd show Groose -and everyone else, for that matter- that he was more than a delusional.

Even after he'd had no talking, no voices for a year, Groose still resorted to bullying him about his previous troubles. Eventually it became about his spending time with Zelda, which baffled Link. While he didn't pay the teasing much mind, for the most part, there were bad days. There were very bad days when Link missed the voice that had told him _'Yes, be angry, hero, be annoyed'_ instead of_ 'Ignore it, Link, he's just being immature.'_

He made his way to the Statue of the Goddess, Zelda's favourite place in all of Skyloft. Just as Link used to be found wandering around dangerous ledges, Zelda was almost always walking the beautiful Isle of the Goddess with her pet Remlit, Mia, in her spare time.

Link spotted her standing on the circular mosaic under the statue, plucking at the strings of a shining golden instrument. She was dressed in her brand new clothes for the Wing Ceremony in hues of deep pink and blue. A long piece of white fabric was wrapped around her shoulders, tied in a knot at her back with the emblem of the Goddess stitched into the fabric.

She turned to face him, her blonde hair falling neatly in a ponytail at her back. Zelda smiled warmly as Link approached, meeting him at the edge of the mosaic tiles.

"Morning, Link!" she greeted him. She gave a quick twirl, showing off the extent of her outfit from the gold-plated belt to the pale green ribbons keeping her hair back. "What do you think?"

"You look wonderful," Link replied honestly, glancing curiously to her new instrument. She caught his eye and grinned wide.

"I think so too; it's nice to know you agree, though!" She held up her curved instrument then, inlaid with ancient symbols Link felt he should have recognised. "And look at this instrument, too! Father calls it a harp. Link, it sounds _fantastic_; listen!"

She plucked at some of the strings again to demonstrate, before glancing up and beyond Link's shoulder. He turned to follow her gaze and met the fathering gaze of Gaepora, climbing the steps with a small smile. Even as his hair turned white, the man was still full of the same energy he'd had for years.

"Link, Zelda, here you are," he greeted them with a nod. "I didn't expect to see you here, Link. Everyone else is out on their birds practicing for today."

Link felt colour rise in his cheeks as he glanced toward the sky, where streaks of colour whizzed about overhead. Groose and his friends, likely pulling stunts of all kinds to wow everyone with later.

"Well…"

"Well," Gaepora repeated with a bark of laughter. "I'd get to it if I were you! And Zelda, _you_ should be practicing your lines for after the race!"

Zelda, while tempted to join Link in his practice to see that he was alright, knew her father had a point. She nodded acknowledgement, as did Link, but stopped her friend for a moment with a hand on his arm.

"Give it your all, Link," she said after a moment's hesitation. "I want to perform this ceremony with _you_."

Link nodded in response, his features set into an assured, determined expression, before he headed toward the diving platform some distance from the Statue. Zelda and her father watched him running off with something akin to regret.

"Father, what if he-?"

"Zelda," Gaepora interrupted her gently. "Worry about Link another time. Look after _yourself_ for once!"

"The young girl tapped her foot hard against the ground, a hand on one hip. With a final huff, she relented. But not before adding a warning for her smiling father. "If _anything_ goes even slightly wrong today, I'll be having words with you!"

With that proclamation, Zelda marched herself to the plaza with all the subtle ferocity she was known for.

* * *

The Wing Ceremony was, as it always had been, an extremely excitable day for the residents of Skyloft. To their surprise, the race was even more competitive than in prior years, and it was one of the shortest races they'd had in a long time. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that Link, the underdog, was the one to grab the statuette and come out as the victor.

The townspeople had watched in perplexed but respectful silence - even Groose - as the new graduate flew with Zelda to the Statue of the Goddess to receive his gift and finish the Ceremony.

"Great goddess, guiding light and protector of our people," Zelda spoke clearly, as she had rehearsed it a thousand times over. Link's hand was warm in hers, shaking slightly. "Grant us your blessing and mercy as I act in your stead during this ceremony."

Both stood on the highest point of the statue, Link kneeling before her with his hand outstretched to her as she spoke. Both had their eyes closed, as per the norm, but the soon-to-be hero could not help peeking up at his friend as she recited. Her next words carried a strange air to them, and they did not sound rehearsed. They did not sound like Zelda was saying them.

"Valiant youth who grasped victory at the celebration of the bird folk… In accordance with the old ways… I now bestow the blessing of the goddess upon you."

This time, Link looked up when Zelda took her hand away, loosening the knot of fabric tied at her back and folding the cloth neatly. She proffered it to him with a proud smile and strangely familiar words. "The blessings of the goddess drift down from the heavens aloft a sail, which I now pass on to you."

Link rose from his kneeling position and took his prize from her with a beam. "Thank you, Zelda."

"You know, they say the goddess gave the Sailcloth to her chosen hero long ago," she remarked, glancing at the handmade replica. "Of course, the one you're holding is one I've been working hard to make for today's champion! And I'm really glad I could give it to you, Link. Take good care of it, okay?"

Link gave a firm nod, turning the cloth over in his hands to run his eyes over the goddess' emblem. Looking down at it, he felt as if he should be remembering something, but he had no idea as to what. Zelda's hand tapping his snapped his attention back to her. He found her smiling gently, her voice soft when she addressed him.

"Thanks for making it up here to do this with me today, Link," she said simply, before her face cleared. "Now, we _really_ should finish up this ritual…"

Link blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought there was anything beyond receiving his gift, but it seemed there was more.

"You… _do_ know how it ends, don't you?"

Link shook his head, a worried frown forming on his face, and Zelda laughed. She came close, very close, and Link's stomach formed an uneasy knot as his thoughts went awry. Zelda didn't feel that - she wasn't actually going to…

_'Worried, skychild?'_

"Aa-AAH!"

Disturbed suddenly, Link took an involuntary step backward just as Zelda's arms moved quickly for his. One step too far.

And then he was falling, with only the Sailcloth in hand, Zelda screaming frantically for him to open it and use it, Link. And after a second or two fumbling, it came undone and Link was floating, safe, toward the centre of the mosaic tiles. And then his feet touched solid ground again.

"Link!"

He shaded his eyes with a hand and made out Zelda, flying down on her Loftwing with a relieved smile on her face. He greeted her with a shaky wave.

"Oh, Link, I'm so sorry I startled you!" she apologised quickly, hopping down from her Loftwing and almost gliding over to him, she moved so quickly. "Are you alright?"

Link thought it would be best not to mention the sudden, sharp return of his frequent visitor. "I'm fine, it's okay I was… well, like you said…"

"Startled," she repeated a little more softly, before she clapped her hands together. "Well, you know, that was the ending of the ceremony! You had to jump off of the Statue and use the Sailcloth to land right where you're standing! And you did it, you're finished!"

Link laughed, disbelieving at having panicked the way he did. Of course it hadn't been entirely Zelda, but…

_'Here…'_

"Let's go for a quick flight," Link suggested, a little too loudly. Zelda raised her eyebrows in surprise before shrugging.

"Well, alright!"

They both moved for the diving platforms, taking off at a jog and whistled for their birds. As he landed on his Loftwing's back, Link pushed outside thoughts away as he focused on handling his bird correctly, dipping and rising when need be, keeping pace with Zelda. He slowed as she called for him, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Link, there's something I hadn't gotten the chance to tell you," she began, shouting over the winds that were brewing. "You've been so busy, and – Link! Look _out_!"

* * *

"_Now_."

The tornado writhed, stretching far above the one who had summoned it. It shot through the ever-present, near-impenetrable cloud barrier easily. It had worked, he'd _done_ it, this was the beginning of it all! The goddess, the _hero_. He would come now, he would meet his long-gone hero once more.

Ghirahim laughed harshly, dementedly.


End file.
